Just My Imagination
by Belfast Docks
Summary: She had half a mind to throttle Fred Weasley. This was entirely his fault. - Hermione/Ron, One-Shot, Lemon.


**Author's Note:** I originally posted this piece on the HP archive "Checkmated" in 2009. I thought the site had disappeared, but when it came back up, I decided to transfer this piece and a few others to FFnet in order to save them. I'm notorious for deleting stories off my computer once I finish them.

**Thanks To:** PigWithHair, who beta'd this piece way back when.

**Rating: M (heed it, it involves sex)**

**Pairing:** Ron/Hermione

**Timeline:** _Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince_

**Inspiration:** _"You know," said Hermione, looking up at Harry, "that really is extraordinary magic!"_

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

~ _Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince,_ Chapter Six

**Just My Imagination**

It was most decidedly winter. The back corner of the Transfiguration classroom was quite chilly, and Hermione was thankful she had worn her heavy cloak. But accepting the cold was just a minor inconvenience of the situation, and accept it she would, because the alternative was much worse.

She had taken the pangs of sitting in this lonely, cold corner because it was as far from Harry and Ron she could possibly get. Because being near Harry and Ron also meant being near Lavender, who was sitting beside Ron, and making it nobody's secret that she was revoltingly enamored with her boyfriend. Hermione could barely look at either of them. The pain of seeing Lavender touching Ron, let alone kissing him, was pure torture. Even _now_, as they were settling down for class, _Lav-Lav_ was leaning on Ron's shoulder, whispering in his ear and giggling far more than was necessary.

Hermione quickly ducked her head as she reached into her satchel to extract her Advanced Transfiguration book. She refused to let Lavender Brown see any of her tears. Nor would she allow Ron see how much his decision hurt her, either. She couldn't. He wouldn't understand – because if he understood, he wouldn't be dating _Lavender_.

"Please take out your quills," Professor McGonagall said crisply, breaking through Hermione's thoughts. "Today's will be a lecture before we put the theory into practical use next lesson. We will be experimenting with the first steps of transforming the human body into other objects, which is an extremely difficult and dangerous part of Transfiguration and requires your _undivided_ attention."

There was a general groan — Seamus thrust his wand angrily into his backpack and Parvati sighed heavily with disappointment. Unwillingly, Hermione stole a look at Ron. He was trying to tug his arm out of Lavender's embrace so he could retrieve a roll of parchment from his bag. Harry, however, was looking right at Hermione. Before she could divert her attention, he gave her a small, bittersweet smile.

Hermione briefly allowed her eyes to meet Harry's in mute response before she slowly pulled parchment and a quill from her bag. Sometimes it hurt even to look at Harry, who _knew_ the reason behind her pain and why she rarely sat with him or Ron. But at least Harry seemed somewhat understanding of her plight, when no one else did.

However, just as her hand slipped back into her satchel for her ink, it also brushed against the corner of something else.

Hermione froze. She had practically forgotten that she had shoved this in her bag, and the only reason it was here was to keep anyone _else_ from finding it. Because if anyone _ever_ knew she had one of _those_... Well, she would never live it down. And no one would believe she hadn't actually _bought_ it.

Her fingers trembled slightly on the edge of the object. Professor McGonagall had erased the blackboard and was sending the chalk flying across the newly-clean surface, spelling out the theory Hermione had read about two nights earlier while trying to get ahead in her studies. She had even asked Professor McGonagall about it yesterday before Arithmancy, to make sure she understood it correctly, and Professor McGonagall had been quite impressed with Hermione's knowledge on the upcoming lesson.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron and Lavender again as the chalk continued to move across the blackboard; Lavender was now trying to borrow Ron's ink well and apparently was also attempting to change the color to pink. Hermione flushed angrily. For some reason, she suddenly and recklessly didn't care about copying notes or thrusting her hand into the air to answer questions — her classmates would only snicker at her as they always had, now more so than usual. Ron would probably even incite them to it, just as he had just the other day, when he took the mickey only to get a laugh out of Lavender. And today she knew she just couldn't cope with it.

Her fingers were still touching the object within her bag. She was in the very back of the room, and no one could see her unless they turned around. She was really free to do whatever she wanted. And besides, the sooner she used the wretched product, the sooner she could Vanish the box and be done with it.

Before she could turn the decision over in her mind, her hand acted of its own accord and pulled the box from her satchel into her lap where it was hidden neatly from view by the desk. Breathing shallowly, Hermione's fingers fumbled from the cold as McGonagall turned to the board to point out the first rule of their new lesson and explain it in detail.

No one would ever know.

"You're kidding." Ron laughed.

Hermione shifted a bit. She should have known he would never believe such a thing of her. Her, of all people! She had to admit grudgingly to herself that it _was_ rather out of character, on the whole. She couldn't believe she had told him about it at all, really.

"But you always copy notes, Hermione! And I didn't think you bought _anything_ from —"

"I didn't _buy_ it; Fred _gave_ it to me! And I couldn't help using it. I was hurt and angry. I wanted to be rebellious." The words tumbled from her mouth unchecked, and she blushed fiercely. She had promised that she would never, ever tell him about _this_.

_Too late now_, she thought with dismay. But maybe he had already figured it out, and perhaps it wasn't too much of a surprise. Thankfully, it was at least pitch black in this tiny, cramped, hidden room somewhere between the third and fifth floors, so he had no idea of the heat that had risen to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." This time, his voice was sober and quiet — he understood and he was sorry for what he had done. His calloused fingertips traced her jaw, and she trembled. Certainly he could _feel_ the heat now, she was sure of it. And it was awfully cramped in this hidden room. Had it once been a broom closet, or perhaps a storage cabinet? She really had no idea. There was nothing in here except enough space for two people, crammed between the tightness of the cold stone walls. Ron was pressed against her, and though her hands were at her sides, the close proximity of his body enabled her to sense the tenseness of his muscles and the tall frame that had filled out this year.

Nervously, Hermione lifted her hand and tugged at a loose curl. "How did Harry find this place, again?"

"Marauder's Map," was Ron's murmured reply. He had bent his head, and Hermione gasped at the sudden closeness. His nose was nuzzling under her ear, sending incredible goose bumps down her arms. She squeaked, and to her annoyance, she felt him smile against her skin at her reaction.

"Like that, love?"

"Ron!" she whispered.

His hands slid over her hips, drawing them to his, and a bolt of electricity suddenly seared her veins. She moaned and leaned her head back, glad that the stones were cold against her scalp. It took a moment to get over the shock of feeling her hips rubbing against Ron's — the sensation was too wonderful not to savor. But when she refocused, she realized that he was bunching her skirt to her hips while kissing her throat. The backs of her bare thighs bumped the cold wall, and she took a sharp intake of breath.

"W-What are you doing?"

He brushed his mouth over her neck, coming to suck on the soft spot behind her ear. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Just touching what I've wanted for two years, now."

And without waiting for her response, his hands firmly slid over her thighs and cupped the back of her legs, just beneath the curve of her buttocks. His thumbs brushed upwards, skimming underneath the hem of her knickers, and Hermione couldn't help but whimper. Her knees were giving out, and to remain standing she locked her arms around Ron's shoulders, thrilled and panicky at the same time to discover they were broader than she realized and so very strong. He took her shift in posture as an invitation and pressed his hips against hers more firmly, which pushed her into the wall again. And then, without warning, his mouth found hers.

All thought left her brain as Ron's tongue swiftly delved past her parted lips and began to explore thoroughly. Hermione clutched tightly at his shirt and kissed back, desperate to taste more of him. The kiss deepened and Hermione whimpered. For a few moments, his tongue fought with hers while their bodies closed together completely. Before she realized what she was doing, she had twisted her fingers into his hair. It was long on his neck – likely, Mrs. Weasley would cut it when she next saw him. She'd have to put a stop to that. Her fingers were enjoying the soft, silky locks far too much.

"_Fuck_, Hermione," Ron muttered between kisses. "I _want_..."

"_Yes_..." She groaned. That was _exactly_ what she wanted, too. She could feel him against her, just as desperate as she was. It was driving her crazy and she was already so _wet_.

Before she could beg for more, his hands came out from beneath her skirt, and he began to undo the buttons of her blouse. It was quite clear that he was in a hurry; two buttons popped off in his haste and Hermione heard them hit the floor with faint pings. Then his lips were sliding sensually across hers again; Hermione arched, thrusting her breasts upwards, and Ron's hands closed on them almost painfully.

Thank _Merlin_ his mouth was still fused with hers, or she was sure that someone would have heard her cry out in pleasure. Even as it was, when he broke apart to kiss down her throat, she unconsciously begged him to keep going, and he did. When his mouth closed around one of her tight nipples through the fabric of her bra, Hermione nearly sobbed in frustration. She had to bite her lip hard to keep from making any more noise — the last thing she wanted was Filch throwing the door open and discovering them, even though she had sealed it shut magically when Ron had dragged her in here.

She felt him roughly push the bra up over her breasts, and his hands and mouth groped eagerly as the soft globes tumbled free. Writhing and gasping, Hermione started to pull his shirt open. It wasn't fair that he could touch her and make her helpless; she wanted to return the favor.

The second her slender fingertips skimmed over his chest, she felt his muscles bunch and tighten. For a split second, she felt powerful and unstoppable — like a woman instead of a girl. The feel of him sent a rush of heat to her lower belly. Without thinking, she touched the pads of her fingers to his nipples, finding them hard. His entire body shuddered.

"_Bloody hell_, Hermione...!"

Breathing fast, Hermione leaned forward and tentatively licked one of his nipples, as he had just done to her. The result was a strangled yell, before he grabbed her hair a bit roughly and tilted her head up to claim her mouth again. Hermione thrust her tongue against his. She could barely breathe now, she wanted him so much, and in the back of her mind she heard the zipper of his trousers sliding down. Keeping one of his hands buried in her hair, Ron thrust his other between her legs.

At his touch, Hermione instinctively shifted her feet, opening her legs for him. He gripped her crotch tightly in his hand, sliding two fingers up against the wet knickers and pressing them hard into her.

Hermione bucked and gasped. "_Ron_...!"

"I know." He panted. "Just two seconds, love. Two seconds..."

His fingers were clumsily working her knickers down; as he did so, his hand slid over her hip and arse in a long, sweeping movement. She could feel the roughness of his palm from playing Quidditch and it made her skin tingle with excitement. She was dimly aware that her soaked knickers had slipped to her ankles, and she stumbled out of them quickly. Ron bunched her skirt up again, only to grind his cock against her.

There was no way to stop herself from crying his name. He was too close to being inside her, and she was too desperate for him. She could feel him slipping against the wetness, and her body opened more. He was angling her hips, shifting her up against the stones behind her. Gripping his shoulders, Hermione pushed herself up further and hooked her leg over his hip.

And all of a sudden, he thrust up into her with a harsh groan, his hips bumping into hers and his chest pressing firmly against her breasts. Hermione felt her nipples harden against the sweat on his skin. It was perfect — she had always dreamed of this, and now it was happening.

If she were screaming or talking or saying his name, Hermione had no idea. All she could feel and think of was Ron's cock inside her, thrusting deep and hard every time he moved. He was closer than she had realized, because his body was shaking as she bounced on him. Much too soon, before she wished, the heat that had been building all along inside of her exploded, and Hermione felt her muscles clench as she screamed hoarsely. Her body rippled, and she sobbed incoherently in pleasure at finally feeling release with Ron actually buried within her. He came a few seconds later, pressing his forehead into her shoulder as he held her hips tightly to keep himself deep inside her.

Dazed, Hermione sagged against the wall. Her body was sticky and wet and Ron was burning beneath her as they slid down the wall to the floor together where they curled up, cramped and tangled.

It was several minutes before Hermione was finally able to whisper in a choked voice, "_Ron_..."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. His mouth skimmed her hair and then her ear, as he struggled to shift into a more comfortable position. "_Hermione_... I love you."

Hermione sobbed once, the cry racking her body. She had waited so long to hear it, and the sound was almost surreal. "Oh, _Ron_! I love you, too!"

Startled at the tears, Ron wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. "Bugger! Don't cry, Hermione! Please don't cry! Listen, I'll..." He twisted, and after a second Hermione felt the stickiness on her skin began to siphon off. "Clean us up," he muttered, continuing to use his wand on both of them.

She whimpered, squirming as he finished the task. Her body felt much cleaner, but incredibly empty. She shuddered and curled into his side again. "I really love you, Ron," she whispered.

"I know," he said soothingly. He moved to sit beside her, propping his back against the wall with a groan.

Hermione leaned her forehead on his shoulder. His shirt was half off of his body; she slid her hand up his chest, shuddering at how wonderful he felt. She could touch him all she wished now, whenever she wanted... They very thought made the heat between her legs stir again.

He must have been thinking the same thing, because he murmured, "If you keep that up, we'll be shagging again."

"I hope so," Hermione said softly. She wondered how anyone could feel so happy and content, so perfect. She had been so complete when Ron was inside of her — he had been made for her. They were definitely going to be doing this a _lot_.

"And maybe afterwards, when we get back upstairs," Ron added languidly, "I can try Transfiguring Harry into a broomstick."

For a second, Hermione tried to wrap her brain around what he had said. Then she blinked and sat up straight, utterly confused. _What_? They had just had an incredibly wonderful, kinky shag in a storage closet... Their very first time together, and...

"Absolutely not, Mr. Weasley. At the rate Miss Brown is holding on to your arm, you'd likely set Mr. Potter's robes on fire instead of actually performing the spell _properly_."

_Oh...bloody hell_, Hermione thought angrily.

"Miss Granger, if you would remain behind, please," Professor McGonagall said sharply, as the bell finished clanging for the change of classes.

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she rose defiantly from her chair on steady feet and hoisted her satchel over her shoulder. She should have expected this, really. How could she have been so _foolish_?

From the corner of her eye, she knew Ron was staring at her in confusion, obviously wondering why Hermione had been requested to remain behind. Lavender was tugging impatiently on his arm, rolling her eyes. Seamus, Dean, and Parvati walked past her with raised eyebrows, and as Harry slipped by he muttered that he would wait for her outside in the corridor.

As soon as the door shut behind the last of the exiting class, Hermione slowly made her way to the front of the room, suddenly diverting her eyes. It was too embarrassing to actually _look_ at Minerva McGonagall. Perhaps the floor would open and swallow her up, if she were incredibly lucky. God, what on earth had her face looked like for the entire lesson? Had she made any movements or _motions_? Had she _said_ anything? Hermione could feel the heat in her face — maybe she would set the desk on fire accidentally. _Anything_ to distract from _this_ conversation.

She stopped in front of the teacher's desk, clutching her Transfiguration book to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around it.

"Miss Granger, you surprise me," Professor McGonagall began.

When Hermione dared to glance up, she noticed the elder's eyebrows were past her hairline.

"I am perfectly aware that you have already read the chapter on the difficult process of transforming the human body into inanimate objects, and I have no doubt in my mind that you could actually perform the necessary spells if I asked you to demonstrate the theories for me this moment. But I also know that for the past five years, Miss Granger, though you have always read ahead before the actual lesson, you have still taken notes on the lecture to ensure you haven't missed anything."

Hermione remained silent.

Professor McGonagall frowned, though not unkindly. "Hermione," she said — and Hermione jumped at the use of her given name. "I know that you are upset about Mr. Weasley and Miss Brown, but..."

"I'm not, really." The reply was automatic and untrue. But it was also well practiced.

Professor McGonagall inhaled through her nostrils. "I am not as skilled a Legilimens as Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape," she replied curtly, "but I am also not _daft_, Miss Granger."

Hermione winced. "I didn't mean to imply that —"

"I am aware of that. But even so, the situation _has_ upset you. You may wish to hide your feelings from your classmates, and that is your decision. But might I remind you, Miss Granger that Mr. and Mr. Weasley's products _are_ forbidden within Hogwarts, and you _are_ a Prefect."

Hermione's face turned scarlet, and to her horror, she thought that Professor McGonagall _almost_ smiled.

It must have been a trick of the light, however, because a second later the Transfiguration professor looked thoroughly annoyed. "All I ask is, in the future, you refrain from using any said products within my class. I have no doubts you would pass the course, but your classmates may notice the change in your behavior."

Oh, _Merlin_. She had assumed that sitting in the back of the class would be the ticket to using the damned product. She had been sure that everyone would be focused on writing down the lecture for the difficult processes McGonagall had been going over; certainly not letting their attention drift to the dark, cold corner in the back! She had half a mind to throttle Fred Weasley. This was entirely his fault.

Professor McGonagall was watching her beadily. "Not to worry. I don't think anyone noticed. _This_ time."

Hermione exhaled and pressed her palms to her eyes, until bursts of stars appeared in the darkness of her hand. She was completely mortified. After a moment, she gathered her thoughts, and whispered, "I'm really sorry, Professor. I swear; I won't ever do it again. I just... I don't even know what made me use it today. Fred gave it to me."

That was a lame excuse, she thought bitterly, the moment the words left her mouth. Just because someone tempted you didn't mean they had control of your willpower.

So she added, "If you wish to take points from Gryffindor, I completely understand —"

Professor McGonagall gathered her briefcase, latched it, and rose stiffly. She said, "I hardly think that will be necessary, Miss Granger. But thank you for not doing it again. And incidentally..." She gestured for Hermione to walk down the center aisle between the desks before her, "I am sure it will work out."

Her head dropped sadly. "It doesn't seem that way. Sometimes it just gets so _hard_..."

This time, Professor McGonagall did smile just the slightest bit as she pushed the door open to let Hermione into the corridor. "I confess, I have been teaching long enough to know that immature boys eventually grow up, and they rarely stay with the first girl they try out."

Hermione managed the tiniest smile in return before she slipped out into the corridor.

And to her horror, Harry pushed off the wall in the corridor just three feet away, looking concerned.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

McGonagall eyed him sharply. "She's perfectly fine, Mr. Potter. We were just having a discussion about Miss Granger's last exam. She scored one hundred and four percent." And with that, the Transfiguration Professor briskly headed down the corridor and disappeared around the corner.

Hermione stared after her, while Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"And you're embarrassed about _that_?"

"Never mind," Hermione muttered. Then, mustering her courage as they turned down a flight of wide stairs leading to the next floor, she asked, "Harry? Did you notice anything unusual during Transfiguration?"

Harry shrugged and shifted his satchel to avoid a fourth year Hufflepuff girl that was racing up the stairs, ogling him unnecessarily. "I glanced back at you a couple of times, but you were just kind of staring off into space the entire lesson," he said. "You weren't taking notes or anything. I just figured that... well, you know." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously before plowing on. "I figured you didn't want me copying your notes because you know I'll probably give them to Ron, so you didn't take any at all. And it isn't as though you don't already have the chapter memorized."

Hermione stiffened and ignored the comment about Ron. "Is that all?"

"Was I supposed to notice anything else?"

"Did anybody _else_ notice anything?"

Harry frowned. "What's _with_ you?"

"Nothing! Really. Never mind." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Harry."

As they turned down the next corridor and a narrow set of steps, Harry said dryly, "I reckon you're still taking too many classes, Hermione."

"Yes, well. Speaking of classes... I'll have to catch up with you later. I left some books in the dormitory, and I really need to collect them before Ancient Runes."

And before Harry could respond, she ducked behind a tapestry to a hidden staircase that would take her back to the next floor up.

But her was mind far from her Ancient Runes' books. She dearly hoped Harry hadn't seen her expression, because what she really needed to do was to change her knickers.

**~FIN~**


End file.
